The Golden Girl-- A Draco Malfoy Love Story
by WordAmor
Summary: When Harry Potter fangirl, Ayanne Brown, gets a letter to Hogwarts, she is super excited, and hopes to meet THE Harry Potter. However, a blond haired boy catches her attention.
1. Ayanne

Chapter One:

Ayanne

Ayanne woke with a start. The nightmare was still vivid in her mind. She had dreamt that her eleventh birthday had come and gone and she still had never

received an acceptance letter to Hogwarts. Her eyes roved around her room as she grounded herself in the fact that she was, in fact, not eleven yet and landed

on the poster of Harry Potter on her wall. She blushed.

"Watching me sleep, Harry? Naughty, naughty." she whispered to the blinking and smiling picture. Harry lowered his eyes, turning red in the face.

She lifted her wrist to check her watch. The digital numbers blinked uncertainly before switching from 11:59 on a Tuesday to 12:00 on a Wednesday. Her heart

raced as she realized that she was now officially eleven. She pumped her little fist enthusiastically, attacking her pillow in triumph. Absolutely silent shouts of

delight were shaped by her lips. She had waited nine years for this.

Suddenly she realized that it would be hard to enjoy any pretense of a celebration if she were drooping like a wilting flower due to her lack of proper sleep.

Promptly she plopped down onto her pillows and squeezed her eyes shut. Her tiny fists were clenched and glued to her sides, and her legs were clamped

together. It was rather difficult to fall asleep like that. Eventually, however, her muscles relaxed as she gently drifted off back to sleep.

Ayanne Brown was a proud Harry Potter fan club member of the platinum level. She (privately, of course) thought that Harry was the most wonderful (and

handsome) creature to ever walk the earth. Every week she held a Harry Potter fanclub meeting with the other witches on her streets in her bedroom. She was,

naturally, the president of this little group, and governed these meetings with the strict devotion of such a person. The Birch Street Harry Potter Fan Girls Group

(or Bush-puf-gug as they called themselves) met once a week to rave about Harry Potter, take pictures of his current house a couple blocks down, and brag

over the dreams they had about him. Ayanne governed her little group with a sweet and innocent, but general-like authority, and all the little girls deferred to

her.

In a cozy little house on a cozy street in Little Whinging, Ayanne slept with a smile, her sisters in the rooms beside her, and her parents in the room below her.

Dreams of flying owls with rolls of parchment in their sharp little beaks swooped around in her head, and she sighed in her sleep, unconsciously hoping to wake

up with a Hogwarts letter on the table.

Ayanne yawned and stretched luxuriously in her mahogany bed. The golden stars on her purple bedspread wrinkled as she sat up. Her eyes flickered once more

to her watch. It was eight in the morning and already the pans were jangling merrily downstairs in the kitchen. Ayanne smiled. No doubt it was her mother.

The lovely, brown-haired girl hopped out of bed and jumped over to her deep brown dresser. She ripped open the drawers and whipped out the shirt she had

been saving for this day- her birthday shirt! It was the one blouse in the whole house that had moving graphics. Pink confetti whirled around the flashing green

words, Happy Birthday! She blew on the drifting confetti and giggled as they swirled around in a tiny blizzard in response to her forceful breath. She pulled on

her jeans and shoved her head through the birthday blouse. She grabbed her hairbrush off of her dresser and skipped to the bathroom to brush her hair.

As Ayanne ran the purple brush through her long, brown hair, she stared in the mirror at her- what she considered to be- hideous reflection. Her nose was nice,

she supposed, with a sprinkling of little freckles across the bridge, and she liked her cheekbones and her jawline. It was her eyes that were the problem. They

were rather almond-shaped, that much was true, but one of them was green, and the other a sickly bright blue. She did not like that. After a minute she

realized she had set her brush down on the marble-topped counter to glare at her image. Embarrassed by her obsession, she turned to the door and stalked out

without looking back at the mirror. Only once she had dressed and scrubbed her face did she leap down the stairs to the kitchen.

The twins, Olivia and Amelia, were already setting the table and arranging vases full of delicate pink roses. Ayanne sniffed daintily at the lovely aroma wafting

through the dining room. She smiled and gave her little sisters big hugs for her birthday surprise.

"Do you like them, Ayie?" Olivia asked proudly.

"Of course I do! They are the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen! Wherever did you get them?"

Amelia and Olivia beamed with pride.

"Mummy helped us pick them out at the Muggle store," Amelia replied humbly. "She said that little sisters always get roses for their big sisters' eleventh

birthdays in the wizarding world. She said that it is because eleven is how old you are when you get the Hogwarts letter."

Olivia sighed loudly. Ayanne smiled. She knew why Olivia suddenly had a long face.

"Don't worry about it too much, Livvy. You and Amelia will go to Hogwarts in just four years!"

Olivia's bottom lip stuck out like a couch cushion. "But four years is a long time," she pouted. Ayanne laughed. Olivia was an impatient creature; it was her most

recognisable trait. That and her insufferable passion for Quidditch.

Amelia was Olivia's polar opposite. She was kind, overly ladylike, and would rather cuddle up to a couch with a book than race around on a broomstick. Both

twins were honey blond, with freckles by the million. They were both tall for their age, with skinny legs and long arms. But Ayanne supposed that that was

normal for eight-year-olds.

The girls' mother was bumbling around in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the birthday girl. Ayanne stepped through the door to the addictive scent of bacon

and bangers.

"Mmm, Mum, smells delicious!" Ayanne sighed happily.

"I certainly hope so. Only a looney would find the English traditional breakfast to smell unattractive," Mum replied, turning, wand in hand, to drop a kiss on her

head. The girl smiled and stole a piece of bacon from the sizzling pan. It was hot enough for Ayanne to drop it on the counter and simply pick pieces off the

sliver of bacon.

Ayanne's father walked in, his blond hair shimmering in the morning light. His also blond wife smiled at him over her shoulder and blew a kiss to him. Then she

preoccupied herself at the stove. With a negligent flick of her wand, the bacon strips somersaulted out of the pan and onto a platter. The eggs flew onto five

plates, the sausages flipped into a bowl, and the toasted bread slices buttered themselves. Mum waved her wand again, and the dishware floated snootily into

the dining room.

"Shall we?" Father asked, holding his arm out to the celebrant.

"We shall," she replied, and the family sat around the table. Olivia and Amelia began to fight over the bacon, and the older, more mature members of the

household demurely, and with lifted pinkies, sipped their orange juice.

"You already had a piece! I want one!" Olivia shouted.

"I did not have a piece yet, you did!" Amelia yelled.

"Enough!" Father cried, with a worried glance at Ayanne, who was resolutely glaring at the wall. "Your sister deserves the chance to eat her birthday breakfast

with a loving family, not with a bunch of squealing brats."

"We are not brats!" Olivia humphed.

"We are simply politely fencing over the bacon, Father," Amelia nodded sagely.

"I need some air," Ayanne sighed, as she walked to the window and pushed it open. A black silhouette caught her attention. She stared as it became closer and

larger. She ducked as it zoomed through the window and dropped something in the bangers before sweeping out again.

Mum gasped, and Ayanne turned to look at the thing in the sausages.

It was a letter.


	2. The Stranger

Chapter Two

The Stranger

Ayanne walked in what seemed like slow-motion over to the letter. Everyone at the table was silent- except for Mum, of course, who was clutching Father's arm in a vise-like grip and squeaking excitedly.

"Hush, Chloe," Father said, "Let her enjoy her moment."

Mum stopped squeaking. However, her breath continued to come in short bursts. Ayanne watched her own shaking hand move of its own accord toward the letter. Ayanne's fingers trembled as they curled around the sealed envelope. She flipped it over to see the red, official seal of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 _This is real. This is happening. This is now, and I am going to Hogwarts!_ She thought.

She ripped open the envelope to see the most satisfying words she thought she would ever read.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Conf. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Brown,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins September 1. We await your acceptance owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Ayanne stood still and stared at the blurring words. She didn't have to read them. She knew what the letter said. She read it anyway. She read it several times, to be precise. Mum continued to hyperventilate.

"Well, Ayie?" she demanded in a gasp, "What does it say? Did you get accepted? Are you going to Hogwarts?" Ayanne did not hear her mother. She was too busy reading the letter for the seventh time.

" _Ayanne!_ "

The girl looked up quickly with a chagrined, somewhat sheepish smile.

"Y-yes," she whispered, "Yes." A tangible pause swelled in the little dining room. It grew and grew, swelled and swelled, until, like an overinflated balloon, it exploded. Father stood up abruptly, his chair clattering behind him onto the floor. He swept his daughter up in his big, strong, safe arms and swung her around the room, whooping excitedly. Mum lunged around the table to wrap one hand around her husband's shoulder and the other across Ayanne's soft cheek. The twins, belligerently against being left out of the fun, jumped out of their chairs.

"Group hug!" they screeched in unison. Olivia leaped ecstatically into the fray while Amelia climbed onto her father's shoulders, somehow still seeming unjustifiably ladylike in doing so. Ayanne laughed as the tower of bodies swayed precariously.

"Okay, alright, I can't breathe," Mum giggled in a rather nervous fashion. Slowly, the tiny mountain eroded into five simple pieces. Each piece returned to their respective chair and once more picked up their utensils.

"It doesn't feel real," Ayanne said through a mouthful of sausage. "Looking forward to something for this long makes it seem like a daydream."

Father rolled his eyes. "Ever the weeping poet," he muttered sarcastically, "'Like a daydream,' she said." Ayanne smirked. It was just then that a startling thought occurred to her.

"Are we going to Diagon Alley?" she gasped.

"Well, how else do you suggest we obtain your wand?" Father asked slyly, a merry twinkle in his eye. Ayanne shrieked.

"Attention!" Father yelled in the voice of a commanding officer, "Inspection!"

The girls scrambled down the stairs, giggling, to stand in order of shortest to tallest- first 'Melia, then Liv, and finally, Ayie.

"Sir, yes, sir!" they squealed.

"Breakfast eaten?"

"Check!"

"Dishes washed?"

"Uh huh."

"Table wiped?"

"Of course!"

"Hair brushed?"

"Yes!"

"Teeth combed?"

"What?" the girls lifted their eyebrows.

"You brushed your hair and combed your teeth, right?" Father waggled his own yellow eyebrows. Ayanne rolled her eyes. The twins, however, by evidence of their uproarious laughter, found this particular joke the funniest thing they had ever heard. Father grinned mischievously.

"Well, I suppose if you aren't dressed in your pyjamas and have your shoes on your head, we can go!"

Mum walked through the living room with a large, decorated vase full of bright, celery-coloured powder. "While you're there," she said to Father, "While you're there, get some more Floo powder. We're nearly out, dear." She gave him a quick kiss before setting a flame on the logs in the fireplace with a wave of her hickory wand. She dipped her fair little fist into the sleek, blue vase and pulled out a handful of the stuff. Her hand simply a blur, Mum tossed the Floo powder into the fire. The heat shot up as the fire roared like an angry lion, the usual orange and blue turning to neon green. Amelia winced. Ayanne patted her little sister's hand when she saw the tiny sign of fear.

"Don't worry, 'Melia," she said over the whooshing of the fire, "You have done this before and nothing happened."

Amelia glanced up gratefully. "I know, but it always scares me at first."

"Just watch me. I always have to go first because I am the oldest. Just watch what I do."

Amelia smiled, then frowned. "Why doesn't Father go first?"

"Father always goes last to make sure you get through alright. I go first to watch after you while Father comes through."

"Okay, Ayie, go on through," Father called. Ayanne stepped nonchalantly into the green flames, which fumed around her. The sensation tickled at her elbows and kissed at her chin.

"Diagon Alley!" she yelled toward the brick wall of the fireplace. In spite of the incredible urge to swat at the offending tickles and giggle, Ayanne clamped her mouth shut and glued her arms to her sides. The fire surged around her form, enveloping her in a warm mist. She squeezed her eyes closed as the floor dropped out from beneath her and she fell- twirling in tiny spirals- towards Diagon Alley. She fell and span and span and fell until, like usual, Ayanne felt on the verge of throwing up. It was only then that she flew forward out of the flue and into the feet of a complete stranger.

" _Ouch!_ " the stranger cried, stumbling backwards.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Save your breath," the stranger said stiffly. Ayanne glanced up at the face of her victim. He was pretty, with whitish-blond hair and a long, lean frame. He leaned down in a somewhat reluctant manner to help her up.

"And you are…?" he asked, raising one perfect eyebrow, holding out a slim, white hand. Ayanne grasped it and he pulled her up. As soon as she was off the ground he dropped his arm and wiped it on his trousers like he had touched something slimy.

"Ayanne. I am Ayanne Brown," she replied. She held out a hand in an attempt at a handshake. The stranger simply stared at it until she dropped it, embarrassed and abashed.

"I'm Malfoy. _Draco_ Malfoy," he sniffed, looking at his fingernails. Ayanne's eyes popped open and her mouth dropped to the floor.

"You? You're Draco Malfoy?" she demanded. The boy sneered. "Are you deaf?" he asked. Ayanne shook her head mutely. This was the forsworn nemesis of Harry Potter. Therefore he was Ayanne's forsworn nemesis. But he was just so… _cute!_ It was so difficult to glare at someone with hate that only could be described as egregious when all one could do was stare in awe and admiration. His face was so perfect that perfect was not strong enough. His hands were soft and cool and clean as the most pure drop of rain. His eyes were the most mysterious shade of greyish silver, and suddenly- suddenly Ayanne felt her devotion to Harry Potter slipping away as a new crush bloomed in her heart. She tried desperately to squash the feeling, knowing that this was Malfoy, _the Malfoy_ , but she couldn't. She just couldn't! He was perfect! Just so-

"-Brown? It's Brown, isn't it?" he said sharply, snapping his fingers irritably in front of her face. Ayanne jerked herself back into the present. She blushed as she realized that she had been staring directly into his face as she was warring with her own feelings.

"Um, yes, yes, it is Brown," she stuttered. Draco squinted suspiciously into her eyes.

"Were you staring at me, Brown?" he asked. Ayanne shook her head mutely. "I think you were," he disagreed. "Like what you see, Brown?" His tone was teasing and an adorable- but annoying- smirk graced his pale face.

She shook her head again as Olivia whooshed through the gate and flew into her. "No!" Ayanne screeched as she toppled once more into Draco. She saw his silver eyes widen gloriously as he fell backwards with Ayanne on top of him. "Ow…" he groaned. Ayanne lay, embarrassed and in shock, on the poor boy, with her little sister on her back. Olivia clambered off of the group and began to apologize profusely, letting Ayie awkwardly roll off of Malfoy's chest. Livvy's repeated 'sorries' fell on deaf ears, however. Ayanne and Draco still lay, seemingly frozen, on the ground. She was fascinated with his eyes. They were silver before, and now they were grey with flecks of white and black. As people strode past them, staring, the shadows cast on his face changed the color of his irises from grey to black and silver and back again. He stared back.

"I just noticed that your eyes are the most beautiful color of violet," he said, bewildered.

"And yours are grey," Ayanne replied hesitantly. Draco stood up abruptly and brushed off his hands on the front of his coat.

"Well," he said briskly, "Goodbye, then." He swaggered away without a backward glance. Ayanne lay on her back, suddenly cold, even though she was still in front of a fireplace. Olivia walked uncertainly toward her sister and grabbed her hand. Ayanne stood up.

"Well, he was polite," Livvy said sarcastically.

"Yes," came the absent-minded reply, "Yes, he was."


End file.
